


Crazy, Stupid, Love

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-04 20:37:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15848910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Jesse and Beca have been broken up for six months. One night, Jesse is out drinking and the only number he can think to call to pick him up is hers, and in the car he poses a wild proposition. A wild proposition that she agrees to, no less.





	Crazy, Stupid, Love

It’s been six months since they broke up, and Jesse thought it would be easier than this. 

It’s not like he thinks about her every second of every day. Probably. He has to sleep sometime. 

He still fits in everyday things. Like going to class, practicing with the Trebles (since it’s his last year with them,) and working at the sound stage. Up until six months ago, he’d still been working at the radio station with her. When they broke up, they fought over who should quit (they both wanted to) and both of them ended up putting in a notice on the same day. Needless to say, Luke was less than pleased. 

He doesn’t obsess over how he could’ve fixed things. Most of the time. He doesn’t overthink how he could’ve done better, been better, for her. He asked her for too much, he knows that now. Her walls were easily rebuildable, and though he was the person who could always knock them down, sometimes he took advantage of her boundaries. He pushed her limits. A lot. Until he pushed too far.

Beca, of course, had faults too. Plenty of them, and she was the first to admit it. But in the depression stage, his ex-girlfriend’s mistakes don’t matter nearly as much as his still do. His missteps were ones he could’ve controlled. Hers could be overlooked, for now at least. 

He spent enough time stewing over her imperfections directly after the fact, when the split was still new. She was too closed off, hated public affection, and didn’t like movies. Although, she promised at least three movies a week with him and she always came through. See, even now he can’t wallow in what she did wrong. There’s always a silver lining with everything. 

Thinking about the straw that broke the camel’s back probably isn’t the smartest decision while he’s out drinking with the guys. They’ll call him out immediately once they see the wistful ‘ex-girlfriend eyes’ take over. Regretfully, he’s worn the expression so often lately that it’s become pretty easy to spot. He’s an open book. They all knew how much he loved Beca, and how much she loved him. Or at least that’s what he thought.

She was the one that broke it off, but it had been a mutual agreement at the time. Not an amicable agreement, but one nonetheless. They’d been fighting nonstop over every little thing. The fights were so stupid, it was hard to believe they were fighting at all. It seemed like a joke. Who fights about how long to microwave popcorn? Apparently, they did. 

They started spending less and less time together because of how tense things were. They were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. Stress levels were high, finals and internships and other things of the like. Real life got in the way. They didn’t communicate enough. Now, it feels like they just gave up. They gave up without really trying at all. 

Maybe she didn’t even want to try. What kind of relationship would it be if he was the only one putting forth effort? An imbalanced one, that’s for sure. 

His friends said it was like that, anyway. Imbalanced. He was always the one planning the dates, getting her gifts, doting on her. But he knows they’re wrong, and he knew it then too. They only saw as much that was on the surface, which was next to nothing. His friends didn’t see how she surprised him with tickets to Sundance - fucking Sundance! - for their one-year. His friends weren’t aware of the movie nights she planned, where they watched his favorites back to back. She always tried so hard not to fall asleep, but when she did, he let her. He loved having her head on his shoulder; it felt like that was right where it was supposed to be.

His friends never saw the little things she did, either. Like bring him his favorite sandwich when he was too busy to eat, massage his shoulders after a long day of rehearsals, or run her fingers through his hair as they fell asleep. They never saw the expectant, nervous look on her face when she played a new mix for him. She always got so anxious because she said his opinion was the one that mattered most.

He sighs and wonders whose means the most to her these days. 

“Earth to Jesse… Jesse? Jesse… Jessica? Dude!” 

He snaps back to reality and lifts his head, realizing it had plopped down to rest on his open palm. He blinks hard, reorienting himself with the conversation and the bar, also all of his expectant friends’ eyes on him. 

“Shit, sorry,” he says. 

“Where’d you drift off to?” Kolio asks. 

“It was nothing,” Jesse mumbles, taking a swig of his beer. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I know exactly where he went,” Unicycle announces. “Off to Beca-land as usual.”

“Seriously, shut up,” he says, warning his friend with a glare. 

Luckily, Benji cuts in to try and discourage the topic from escalating any further. If Jesse has talked anyone’s ear off about the whole situation, it’s Benji’s. So much so that he feels bad for the guy. He’s had to listen to the same sob story over and over, told in a thousand different ways. He has to be tired of it by now, but every time Jesse apologizes for going over it yet again, Benji is always gracious. He’s definitely the best friend Jesse’s ever had. 

“What are the Bellas up to these days, anyway?” Benji asks, looking around the table for someone to add to the conversation. “I mean, the ICCAs are coming up. They definitely have something big planned.” 

“Don’t know,” Greg says, arms crossed as he eyes Jesse. “We lost our best narc.” 

“Dude, shut the hell up,” Jesse snaps. “You know she never told me shit, and I never told her about our sets. It wasn’t like that, Be-” 

He cuts himself off, mouth hanging open. It’s stupid, but he doesn’t like saying her name anymore. It hurts. 

“Jesus, calm down,” Hat says, palms out wide. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

“Sorry. It’s a sensitive subject.” 

“How long is that wound gonna stay open for? Damn!” Michael says. “Get over it, dude. It’s about damn time. It’s sad at this point.”

Jesse raises his eyebrows and chuckles humorlessly, shoulders bouncing. “Believe me, I’m aware,” he says. 

“You don’t need any more of this sappy, sad shit,” Kolio says. “Honestly, bro, I’m not sure if I have another pep talk in me. You need some liquid luck, man, you need some shots! Can we get this man a round of shots? He was just broken up with!” 

“Six months ago,” Jesse says, clearing his throat. “And it was mutual, you know, it was mutual…” 

“Shut up, dude. Just take the drinks.” 

…

Jesse does. He takes plenty of shots, all in a row. He slams them fast so he doesn’t feel the sting going down his throat, and bangs the table with his fist when he’s ready for more. The guys cheer him on, guzzling their own drinks, and everyone begins to loosen up. 

The sound of their laughter fills the bar, and Jesse feels better than he has in a while. They play drunk darts, which probably isn’t the safest choice, but no one cares. No one is there to tell them that they shouldn’t, and that’s definitely something Beca would do if she were in attendance. Jesse tends to get goofier than normal when intoxicated, and she always reeled him in. He can almost picture the soft, yet warning look in her eyes when he went a little too far.

But he doesn’t think about that now, at least not for too long. After drunk darts, they play drunk pool, but it doesn’t last for long because Benji ends up spread-eagle on the table claiming that he made all the balls disappear. Then, the guys start making jokes about  _ his _ balls, and Benji can barely breathe he’s laughing so hard.

Jesse doubles over, one hand on the billiards table, and wheezes. Tonight hadn’t started off so well, but it’s turning out to be much better than expected. Nothing a little alcohol can’t fix. 

…

Beca is a night owl. But when she gets a random call at 3 in the morning, she’d already been asleep for a couple hours. Her Friday night had consisted of writing a paper for Psych, creating a new playlist of potential ICCA songs, and dodging Amy’s cough drop wrappers. Her roommate was sick, and it wasn’t pretty. 

But now, the sound of her phone ringing overshadowed that of Amy’s snores and jolts Beca awake. She sits up halfway, hands behind her, and squints disorientedly around the room. It takes her a second before she realizes the sound is coming from her phone, and when she reaches for it, it falls off the nightstand and tumbles to the floor. 

“Shit,” she says, leaning over the bed to locate it. It stopped ringing, and the brightness kills her eyes. She doesn’t recognize the number on the screen, which only confuses her more. “Who the hell…” 

Interrupting her sentence, it starts ringing again - that same number flashing on the screen. It clearly wasn’t a mistake, and she’s wary to pick up, but she does anyway. She feels like she should, though she’s got no clue why. 

“Hello?” she rasps, rubbing her eyes with one fist.

“Bec, oh my god, thank god.” 

It’s Jesse. Not necessarily the last person she expected to hear from, but close. She hasn’t heard his voice in months, not since she accidentally walked past the Trebles’ practice room and heard that heart-melting singing voice of his. She had almost collapsed on the spot, but power-walked through it. Since then, she avoided that part of campus. 

They haven’t spoken, really spoken, since the split. The last thing he said to her was ‘bye,’ which was fitting. She still can’t get the look in his eyes out of her mind. 

“Jesse?” she says, trying to keep quiet. Amy is a light sleeper, and a terror when woken up. She doesn’t want to fight that battle tonight.

“Yeah, s’me. I’m here… I’m so, so, so drunk, Bec.”

“What the fuck is going on?” she says, eyebrows raised. “Are you okay? It’s 3 in the morning. Are you hurt?” 

“No…” he trails off, voice fading for a moment. “Just alone. Everyone left! Booty calls. I’m too drunk to drive… my phone died.” He lets out a deep, heavy sigh. “I remembered your number.” 

“I’m impressed,” she says, and she is. He’s wasted, she can tell by the slurred quality of his words, and it takes a decent amount of alcohol to get him there. The fact that he could still remember her number in that state of mind says a lot. Kind of. Whatever.

“Yeah… I’m pretty cool,” he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice. She resists the urge to mirror the expression alone in the dark. “Bec, I’m stranded here and I want my bed. I might lay down on the sidewalk.”

“Do you need me to come get you?” she asks, knowing he would never ask. He had the nerve to call, but not to ask the favor. His drunk mind works in mysterious ways, yes, but it’s also paired with his humble nature. He never asked too much of her, he was always the one giving. She knows she took that for granted. This is the least she can do. 

“You’d do that?” he asks, and she can practically see his face. So hopeful and boyish. She’d be a bitch to say no and leave him to his own devices in the middle of the night. He’d probably get mugged.

“Yeah,” she says, already getting up to put on a bra and a hoodie. “Where are you?” 

She keeps the radio loud while driving to pick up Jesse’s drunk ass, blaring the Top 40 station that she sings along to. It keeps her awake, which is what matters, until she reaches the bar and sees her ex-boyfriend outside leaning against the building. 

She rolls down the window when she pulls up on the deserted street. “Get in, loser, we’re going shopping,” she shouts, head halfway out. 

He looks up and flashes a silly, toothy grin, then starts to walk her way. Before he can make it far, though, he juts his arms out to either side and wavers in place, blinking hard. He stutter-steps, barely making it a foot before stumbling and falling on his ass. 

“Jesus Christ,” Beca mutters, shifting the car into park before getting out. 

“You quoted a movie,” Jesse slurs, sprawled out on the sidewalk. “Wish I could remember what one. I’ll… I’ll tell you in the morning.”

“ _ Mean Girls _ ,” Beca says, standing over him. 

“No,” he says. “No, they were perfectly nice girls in there. They offered me some pretty dirty things, but I said no. Nope. ‘Cause I’m not over my ex, that’s why!” 

“Jesus, Jess,” Beca says, stooping down to get a good grip on his arm. “You’re trashed. Help me out.” 

He gets to his knees, and she does her best to yank him up to a standing position. She loops one of his arms around her shoulders and wraps one of hers around his waist, making sure he stays steady as they walk the short distance to the car. 

“Don’t you dare throw up in my car,” she warns.

“I don’t throw up,” he says. 

“I know,” she grumbles, opening the door for him. “I’m just saying.” 

Resisting the urge to shove him, she gingerly helps him into the seat and shuts the door, walking around to get to the driver’s side. When she gets in, the radio is no longer playing, but instead the professional recording of the Bellas’ freshman year ICCA performance. 

“You sounded so  _ hot _ ,” he says, eyes lolling as his head flops back. 

“That’s… embarrassing,” she says, shutting the radio off. “Buckle up.” 

He frowns and reaches to turn the stereo back on, filling the car once again with the sound of her voice. “Remember when you sang to me? I do.” 

“Buckle up, Jess,” she says, yet again. 

“It was so sexy,” he continues. “I couldn’t stop staring at you in those high-waisted jeans… the buttons…” He closes his eyes, presumably to reminisce. “Best day  _ ever _ .” 

“Christ,” she says, and reaches to pull the seatbelt across his body herself. She has to reach a considerable distance, so while she has one arm extended, he leans forward and conspicuously smells her hair. “Are you sniffing me?” she asks, pulling away while squinting at his face. 

“What?” he says, blinking rapidly as if that makes him look innocent.

“You just smelled my hair, you fucking weirdo.” 

“I was  _ breathing _ ,” he says, eyes still wide as saucers. 

She clicks his buckle and then her own, still eyeing him as she shifts the car into gear. 

“Still using Herbal Essences even after I  _ told  _ you four hundred times Whole Blends is better,” he murmurs, facing out the window. 

“You’re a fucking creep!” she says, all high-pitched. 

She can’t help but smile, though. She forgot what an idiot he could be. He always made her laugh, no matter the situation. Unlike most people, he didn’t mind being the butt of a joke. Especially when his girlfriend was the one making said joke. 

“I’m observant,” he says, still slurring. He turns his head to look at her, eyes red and swimming. She can’t look back because she’s driving, but she senses his gaze. It’s hard not to. “Thanks for picking me up, Bec. Best g-” 

She knows what he was about to say. ‘Best girlfriend award.’ It was something he used to say all the time, like a catchphrase. It’s clear why he took it back. Even drunk, he doesn’t push boundaries. That much. 

“No problem,” she says, shrugging a bit while keeping her eyes on the road. “What was I supposed to do, let you rot there all night?” 

“You could’ve.” 

“No, I couldn’t. If your shitty friends weren’t gonna take you home, I’m happy to do it.” 

“Even though we haven’t talked in like, a decade…” he says.

“Sorry about that,” she murmurs.

It’s hard not to feel the stone of guilt sinking heavy in her gut. They were friends first, really good friends. And now, with him gone from her life - cut cleanly - there’s a blatant hole in his place. A lot of the time, she studies alone, works out alone, relaxes alone. And worst of all, she sleeps alone. She hates that more than anything. 

She kept one of his t-shirts when she boxed up his stuff. The stupid  _ Star Wars  _ one she always called ‘the ugliest article of clothing on the face of the planet.’ He’d retort something back like  _ Star Wars _ wasn’t even from this planet so her argument is invalid, then she’d roll her eyes. He’d laugh. It was a thing. Their thing. 

So, yeah, she kept that shirt. She still sleeps in it. She assumes he knows it’s missing - he probably noticed right away - but he’s too kind to say anything about it. He always put her first. She should’ve been better to him. 

“Phone works both ways,” he says, holding up his with a black screen. 

“Here, plug it in,” she says, offering the car charger.

“Thanks,” he says, and spends at least three minutes trying to get the charger in the hole where it’s supposed to go. After numerous failed attempts, he cracks up laughing and doubles over with his forehead on his knees, back trembling with giggles. 

“What’s so funny?” she asks. 

His phone lands on the floor with a clatter. “Reminds me of drunk sex,” he wheezes, finding himself incredibly amusing. 

“You’re so annoying,” she says, and grabs his phone while keeping her eyes on the road. She plugs it into the charger effortlessly and the apple insignia comes up, illuminating the entire car. 

His laughter dies down as they continue to drive, then his phone comes back to life. He reads the screen close to his face, scrolling slowly, then lets out a series of fake sobs. 

“What?” Beca snaps, looking over because of the irritating sound. “Jesus, what?” 

“I missed a call from Nan,” he whines. 

She snorts. “You’re crying because you missed a call from your great-grandma?” 

“It’s her  _ birthday _ tomorrow,” he says. “A big, huge party. The whole fam’s gonna be there. I promised I’d call later tonight and tell her what I’m bringing, and I forgot. Then, she obviously called me… she probably thinks I’m ignoring her. God, I’m the worst. I’m the worst great-grandson in the whole goddamn freaking world.”

“In your defense, I think your cousin Henry takes the cake on that one,” Beca quips. “She hates his white boy cornrows.” 

“Okay, yeah,” Jesse groans. “You got me there. But they’re still gonna hate me. They’re gonna hate me so bad. It’s gonna be a wreck.  _ I’m  _ gonna be a wreck.” 

“Dude, you’re being irrational. You missed a phone call. You didn’t start World War III.” 

“That’s not it,” he says, clapping his hands against his thighs. 

“Calm down, whiney-ass,” she says. “What is it?” 

He sighs loudly and throws himself against the door, head forcefully slamming against the window. She looks over, concerned, but he’s unfazed. Drunk people don’t feel pain. 

“I never told them,” he mumbles, and she waits for him to continue. “That we broke up. I don’t have anyone to go with, and what makes it even worse is they’re expecting to see  _ you _ . And they love you. I think they love you more than they love me. Actually, I don’t think that. I know that. A few of them even told me that. And the fact that I  _ lied _ and I’ll probably have to make up  _ more _ lies, because you make Nan so happy and I can’t afford to break her heart like that, she’s damn 100 years old, who knows what’ll happen-” 

“God, you weirdo, shut up. I’ll go with you.” 

For a moment, he just sits there in shock. Then, he looks over with bulging eyes and a growing smile on his lips, filled with emotion. 

“Really? You’d do that?” 

She nods, cool as ever. 

“Oh, god. Thank you, Bec. Thank you so much. You don’t know how much… thank you! I love you!”

They both stop talking then, identical blushes on their faces. Luckily, both of them keep their eyes forward so said blushes aren’t noticed. 

“Jess,” she says, tightening her fingers on the wheel. “Chill.” 

…

The next morning, Jesse wakes up feeling like he’s been hit by a train. The sun is blinding, the birds are chirping at full volume, and his tongue is a thousand sizes too big. He squints against the brightness and groans, lifting his head only to set it gingerly back on the pillow. Someone must have dropped an anvil on it while he was sleeping. It’s never hurt worse. 

“Jesus…” he hisses, reaching to shut the curtains as best he can. 

Hangovers were always a bitch for him. Alcohol rooted itself in his system while it was there, and it took everything with it when it left. Beca was never like that. She could drink for hours and the day after she’d be completely fine. He missed that. If they were still together, right now she’d probably be in the kitchen making breakfast, singing softly and assuming he was still asleep. She made the best hangover eggs - with cheese and green peppers. With bacon and a big glass of orange juice, his mouth waters now at the thought alone.

She’d bring it to him with a gentle kiss to the head and close the curtains correctly, then call him a dumbass for drinking so much. He’d always agree. She’d say it lightheartedly, it was never with any real malice. People always assumed she was mean-spirited, but that was only a cover. He prided himself in knowing what was beneath the surface. At least, at one point he did. 

He rolls his sore body over and reaches for the phone, finding miraculously that he plugged it in overnight. Usually, after a night out he woke up to a dead device. 

Narrowing his eyes at the screen, he finds a handful of texts from Beca. Beca? It takes him a minute to remember why she’d be texting him, but reading what she said clears it up. Nan’s 100th birthday party is today, of all days. 

> **RECEIVED, 9:39am- Hey. What time should I be ready?**
> 
> **RECEIVED, 10:04am- Are you awake?**
> 
> **RECEIVED, 12:59pm- Are you ALIVE?**

His headache is too painful to concentrate on the tiny letters for long, so he can’t type a response. Instead, he presses the phone icon next to her contact and calls her. 

“Jesus Christ, he lives,” she says upon answering. 

“Hey,” he rasps. “Yeah. Sorry.” 

“Dude, it’s almost 2. What time is the party?” 

“4,” he says. “It’s fine. I’ll come and pick you up in an hour, does that work?”

“Can you even drive?” she asks. 

“I’m good. I’ll  _ be _ good, at least. I’ll get there.” 

“Drink some Gatorade, seriously,” she mutters. “And eat something. It’ll help with your headache.” 

He smiles a bit to himself. “Sure,” he says.

“Did you take Ibuprofen last night like I told you to?” she says, sounding irritated. 

“You told me to?” he asks. 

She sighs. “I put it on your nightstand where you’d see it, with a huge-ass glass of water. Did you take some?” 

“Uh… I honestly can’t remember. Wait. You came in with me?”

“Holy shit,” she says. “You really were wasted last night.” 

“Not my finest moment,” he admits. 

“But yes, I came in with you because you could barely walk. You were stumbling all over the place. I helped you into bed and locked up for you.” 

“That was nice.” 

“Well,” she says, clipped. There’s a strange pause before she speaks again. “So, an hour?” 

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “Yep. Be there in an hour.” 

“Cool,” she says. “See you then. Also, am I supposed to dress up?” 

“I don’t really know,” he answers. “I guess, maybe? I’ll wear jeans and a dress shirt. That kinda thing.” 

“Alright.” 

Another weird pause. He doesn’t know what to make of it. 

“So… see you soon.” 

“Yep.” 

“Okay.” 

“Bye.” 

He hangs up the phone and lets his throbbing head hit the pillow once again. This is going to be one very long, very confusing day. 

…

Beca rifles through her closet at a mad pace, keeping an eye on the clock. She doesn’t want to be underdressed, but she’ll be uncomfortable all evening if she’s overdressed. She’s trying to find a happy medium, but it’s proving more difficult than she thought.

Jeans aren’t enough. A long dress is too much. She finally settles on a knee-length skater dress, hair pulled half back. Jesse likes it when she pulls her hair away from her face. 

She frowns at herself in the mirror when that thought crosses her mind. It doesn’t matter anymore what Jesse likes. 

She sighs. It might not matter, but it doesn’t mean she can forget about it. He liked seeing her face; he was always tucking her hair behind her ears for her. He liked seeing the ear spike, too, so she wears it today. Who cares if Nan is turning 100? She probably won’t be able to see it, anyway. 

She silently braces herself for later, when all of his family members will be chatting in her face, asking her for updates, and she’ll have to pretend. They both will. She doesn’t know what she got herself into - and she volunteered, no less. He didn’t even ask, nor was he trying to guilt her. She signed herself up for this! It made no sense. She could’ve just ignored it, driven him home, and left it at that.

But realistically, she knows that would never have happened. She misses him too much for something that rational to happen. 

A few minutes before the hour, she rifles through her jewelry box and finds the necklace he gave her on their first anniversary - the sparkly J pendant. It was cheesy as fuck and she made fun of him mercilessly about giving her a necklace of his own initial, but while they were together she wore it religiously. Didn’t even take it off to shower. It was strange, getting used to the absence of its slight weight on her collarbones. When she puts it back on, it’s like reuniting with an old friend. 

It’s like reuniting with him. 

She waits on the front porch until she sees his Mazda pull up, and he flashes her a huge smile. He looks normal again, unlike last night when he’d been a mess.

“Hey,” he says, leaning with one elbow out the window.

“Hey,” she calls back, trotting to the car.

She slides into the passenger seat and puts her purse on the floor, buckling in as he watches her. She knows he’s watching her. She can feel his eyes; she’s always been able to.

“You look nice,” he says, making eye contact once she’s buckled in. 

“Oh,” she says, looking down at herself. “Thanks. You, too.” 

He shrugs. “Just threw it on. Just lucky it didn’t come from the floor.” 

She raises her eyebrows. “Still shitty at laundry?” 

He flashes her a deprecating smile to let her know she’s correct. She laughs, a puff of air from her nose, and looks out the window. He puts the car in drive and heads towards the yacht club where the party is taking place, and she drums her fingers on her knee. 

It used to be a rare occurrence - silence between them. He always had something to talk about, and once she got going she could go for hours, too. So, neither of them are quite sure how to handle this newfound still air. She assumes he’ll break it first, though, and she’s right. 

“Thanks for doing this,” he says. “Really. It means a lot. You didn’t have to.” 

“I know,” she says. 

He glances over quickly. “That’s the part where you’re supposed to say ‘but I wanted to.’” 

She meets his eyes. “Obviously, I did. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here.” 

“That’s true,” he says. “You never do anything you don’t want to do.”

“Nope.” 

Then, silence again. She stares ahead and takes a deep breath, wondering if this whole thing was a mistake. They’re not together anymore, they’re officially exes now. And what sort of ex- _ anything _ still goes to the other person’s family functions? It’s wrong on so many levels. 

But here they are, and there’s no taking it back now. 

“Everyone’s gonna be so excited to see you,” Jesse says. “Nan might cry.”

“Oh, god, she better not.”

“Why?” he says, a playful lilt in his voice. “‘Cause then you’ll cry?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Shut up.” 

She does tend to be a sympathetic crier, but only in specific circumstances. If Jesse’s great-grandmother burst into tears upon seeing her, that might fit the bill. That woman loves her, and she knows it. Beca loves her, too. She was always so sweet, telling her what a catch Jesse was as if Beca wasn’t already painfully aware. Nan used to say how good they were for each other, how well they balanced each other out.

Suddenly, Beca is glad she’s going. It really would break Nan’s heart if she knew what transpired between them, whatever it was. The stupid fights over nothing, the miscommunication, the pettiness. 

It wasn’t that she didn’t love him anymore, it wasn’t that at all. She doesn’t really know what it was. But something between them just stopped working, and they were both too busy to try and fix it. So, they gave up. 

No, she’d never forgive herself or Jesse if Nan found out about that. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her. 

“Deep in thought?” Jesse asks, a few moments later. 

Beca’s eyes flit over to him. “Um,” she says. “Kinda. Not really.” 

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks, smiling. 

She scoffs lightly. He always used to tease her with that phrase, knowing how much she hated talking about her feelings. 

“Yeah, no,” she mutters. 

“The listening ear is right here,” he says, cupping a hand around his ear. “Always open. 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.” 

“Thanks, but no thanks,” she says, elbowing him. “Get your ear away from me.”

He chuckles and concentrates on the road again, and they don’t talk much more before they pull up to the yacht club and park near the entrance. 

Jesse inhales loudly and exhales louder. “You ready for this?” he asks, rubbing his hands together. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she says.

They barely get out of the car before being met with a high-pitched, never-ending shriek.

“That’s either a bird of prey, or your mom,” Beca mutters. 

“My son!” Georgia Swanson screams. “My sooooooooooooooooooooooon!” 

“Good god,” Jesse says, but smiles. “Hey, mom!” 

Beca winces as Georgia gets closer, and her voice only gets louder. “And Beca! Precious Beca!” 

She envelopes them both in a giant hug, kissing both of their heads with gusto. “Hey, Georgia,” Beca squelches, practically being squeezed to death. 

“I’m so happy you’re here!” she says, still in that same falsetto. “Nan is going to be beside herself. We weren’t sure if you’d make it! You weren’t returning any of my calls this morning. What in the world were you doing, Jesse?” 

Beca raises her eyebrows and looks at him. “Getting over the brown bottle flu,” she murmurs. 

He wraps an arm around her waist and pinches her side softly, and she giggles. “My phone was dead,” he lies. “But look, I’m here. We’re here. Isn’t that what matters?” 

“Of course,” Georgia concedes, then holds his face in both hands. “My son!”

“Alright, mom,” he says, smiling with his lips pressed together as she slaps his cheeks lightly. 

“I just can’t get enough of this face,” she says. “Beca, can you get enough of this face?” 

“Never,” she answers. 

“See!” Georgia squeals. “She gets it. Now, let’s get our tushies inside so you can say hello to everyone!” 

Beca grabs Jesse’s hand for support, and she can tell it surprises him. He jumps a bit, unused to the contact, especially unused to her initiating it. In the beginning, she wasn’t crazy about holding hands. She called it ‘pre-teen’ and rolled her eyes whenever he’d reach for her. As their relationship became more mature, she didn’t so much mind anymore, but she was never the one to reach first.

So now, especially given the circumstance, it catches him off guard. But instead of pulling back, he adjusts their fingers more comfortably and intertwines his with hers, keeping her close. 

The banquet hall is already full of Swansons, and Georgia makes it a point to announce their arrival. “Jess and Beca are here!” she shrieks, and most everyone turns to look. “Come on, you two. You should come see Nan first. She’s been asking for you.” 

“Are we late?” Beca asks him, barely moving her lips as they follow his mother. 

He shakes his head. “Everyone else is just freakishly early. It’s how they work.” 

He bumps her shoulder with his and they both chuckle, smiling when they approach Nan’s table. 

“Grandma,” Georgia says, loudly so Nan can hear. “Your favorite great-grandson is here!” 

Nan looks up from the conversation she’d been having and lays eyes on Jesse. When she does, a huge smile erupts on her face and she extends her arms for a hug, which Jesse gladly falls into - letting go of Beca’s hand. She misses the contact as soon as he goes. 

“My boy!” Nan says, in her wobbly voice. She holds his face just as Georgia had, and kisses him on the cheek. Then, she looks over to Beca. “And look who you brought. The apple of my eye. My girl. Come here, Beca.” 

Beca smiles, feeling a warmth in her chest as she gently hugs her. “You look great, Nan,” she says, closing her eyes as the hug continues. 

“Not bad for a century, eh?” Nan says, then laughs. Jesse definitely inherited her sense of humor. “You’re a doll for coming. Thank you. Seeing your face just made my entire day.” 

“What about mine?” Jesse pipes up, and Nan waves him off with an exaggerated flutter of the hand. 

“I’m the star of the show, not you,” Beca says, joking with him. Then, she looks back to his great-grandmother. “Happy birthday, Nan.” 

“Our gift is definitely the best one,” Jesse says, pretending it’s a secret. “But you didn’t hear that from me.” 

They exchange a few more pleasantries before heading off to get some food and be greeted by a handful of other Swansons. When they finally get a moment alone, they sit at a vacant table with full plates, and Beca says, “You honestly didn’t have to include me on the gift.” 

“Nah,” he says. “I wanted to. All I did was write your name on the tag, so don’t think I went crazy.” 

“Still,” she says, taking a bite of shrimp cocktail. “That was nice of you.” 

“Didn’t you hear? According to my mom, I’m the sweetest guy around.” 

Beca laughs. “Yeah, she’s… something else. Hasn’t changed.” 

“Not a bit. And she won’t.” 

“I’m glad Nan is happy, though.” 

“Me, too.” 

They’re quiet for a moment, eating what they put on their plates. It’s not an awkward silence like in the car, but a comfortable one. It’s a silence between two people who’ve spent years together, seen the best and worst of each other, and pushed through to the other side. 

But neither of them imagined the other side would look quite like this. 

“The last time I saw Nan, geez, when was that?” Beca asks. “Last Christmas?” 

“Probably,” Jesse answers. “Was that the year my cousin Staci picked your white elephant gift with the beer inside?” 

Beca snorts. “You mean, your alcoholic cousin?” 

“That’d be the one.” 

“Yes,” Beca groans. “I’m officially the worst person ever. Who does that?! I didn’t even think!” 

“She’s back in rehab now, you should know,” Jesse says, fake serious as he shakes his head solemnly. “All thanks to you and that craft beer you just  _ had _ to get.” 

“Shut up!” she says, smacking his arm while laughing. “I already feel bad enough.” 

“You should,” he says, nodding. “You should feel very bad.” 

“Seriously, shut up,” she says, swatting him again. “The one who should feel bad is your aunt Karen, giving me a vodka cranberry at 10 in the morning. It’s really her fault, I spiraled the rest of the day.” 

He smirks. “If by spiraled, you mean sang Christmas carols at the top of your lungs to anyone who came to the door… then, yes. You most definitely spiraled.” 

“I swear, I thought I buried these memories deep down where I could never find them again.” 

He pretends to hold something in his hand, one arm raised victoriously. “That’s why you got me with the shovel.”

They spend a minute laughing, Beca doubled over on the table and Jesse watching her with a smile in his eyes. Even while they were still together, she can’t remember when they last laughed like this. Towards the end, everything had turned so serious. They forgot where they started, and the people they started out as. 

Once the laughter dies down, Jesse looks at her with a heavy expression in his eyes, one that makes her breath hitch in her throat. 

“I miss you,” he says, without hesitating. 

Suddenly, the music gets louder and the lights dim, and the DJ welcomes people onto the dance floor. It’s a fast song with a powerful beat, and Beca finds herself nodding along. 

Jesse turns to her after looking towards the source of the sound. He smirks a bit, one corner of his lips pulling up, and extends a hand.

“Wanna dance?” 

…

They don’t dance as much as jump around in time to the rhythm of the first few songs. Jesse watches Beca with her arms raised above her head, eyes closed, totally lost in the moment. He tries to do the same, but his mind is too busy with thoughts of her. 

He wonders if she’s having as good of a time as it seems. She usually doesn’t give away smiles so easily, but she always used to tell him that being around his family brought out a lightness in her. They were like that with anyone, welcoming any stranger into the group until they were no longer a stranger at all. When they first met Beca, there was no strangeness or forced interaction, it was natural from the start. From that point on, it was always easy to see what the future would look like - when they were inevitably married. She already fit in seamlessly without the knot being tied, so it was simply the next step in his mind. 

But they didn’t make it that far.

He wonders how long he should keep this lie up. It’s not right to measure something in the length of a person’s life, but he doesn’t think he could manage to break it to Nan. So, maybe, after she passes away, she’ll let everyone know that their favorite couple couldn’t work things out. 

That sounds awful. 

He promises himself he won’t think about it anymore, not tonight. Tonight is for fun, and he’s going to have a good time. Beca is. He should take a pointer or two from her. 

When the fast songs end and a slow one comes on, they stop jumping. Beca meets his eyes, blinking slowly, her face a bit shiny with sweat. 

Without words, she winds her arms around his neck and steps closer, closing the space between them. Jesse used to love slow dancing with her no matter the occasion, and his heart soars at the possibility of it now. He hadn’t let himself expect this, which makes it even better. 

He circles his arms around her small waist and keeps her near, swaying along with the soft rhythm. As a serene feeling washes over the room, Beca leans against his chest and rests her head over his heartbeat, letting him take the lead. 

“I miss you too, you know,” she says, seemingly out of nowhere. 

He freezes, but only for a millisecond. He hadn’t thought twice when she didn’t reciprocate the statement before - she wasn’t one for declarations like that. So now, some time later, the sentiment means even more.

“It’s weird,” she continues, still swaying along with him. “That you called yesterday night. Because I was just thinking about you.” 

“In the middle of the night?” Jesse asks, playfully. 

She swats his arm lightly, and he can picture the smirk that must be on her lips. 

“You know what I mean,” she says, clarifying.

“I don’t,” he says. 

“You’re trying to make me say it,” she says. “You’re making me talk about my feelings.” 

“I pride myself in being that transparent.”

She sighs and lifts her head to look into his eyes. They’re a warm brown, bringing her home as they always did. He gazes back into hers, then looks at her lips briefly before going even lower. 

“The necklace,” he murmurs, touching it with one finger. It still rests daintily between her collarbones, where he had gotten so used to seeing it. “You’re wearing the necklace.”

“Yeah,” she says softly. “I thought… it’d be weird if I didn’t, you know, for everyone. And…” She takes a deep breath. “Well, I wanted to wear it. I wanted to.” 

He smiles a bit, mostly in his eyes. “It looks beautiful on you.” 

“Your self-absorbed necklace,” she mutters, and they both chuckle. She meets his eyes again and tries to continue from a moment ago. “I was thinking about us. And what we were gonna be, and how we never got there. And how stupid it was that we never got there.” 

He nods. He wants her to continue. He hadn’t known she felt this way, too. 

“And just… God, I really miss you, Jesse. I miss all the stupid little things you did. That we did. I hate sleeping alone, and I hate knowing that you’re just out there… without me. And I’m over here without you. It doesn’t feel right.” She sighs. “I’m probably not making any sense, and you probably don’t feel the same. You can forget everything I said, I just really needed to get it off my chest. It’s been killing me.” 

He takes a moment to soak this moment in, to soak her in. He never thought this would happen. She was never this open, this vulnerable. It took a lot to put her in this position, which meant she was being genuine. 

“Beca,” he says, and she looks up at him. He holds one side of her face and caresses her cheekbone with his thumb, then touches her nose with his. “I do. I do feel the same.” With watery eyes, she smiles. He missed that smile. “I love you. I don’t know if that makes me crazy, or stupid, or whatever. But I do, and there’s nothing I can do about it.” 

“ _ Crazy, Stupid, Love _ ,” she says, squinting a bit. “Isn’t that a movie?” 

He smiles widely, unable to control it. “I knew I rubbed off on you,” he says. 

“You’re such a weirdo.” 

He pulls her in and closes his eyes as she closes hers, and kisses her. It’s like no time has passed at all, no months where they’d been broken up, no fights or petty disagreements. It’s just them in the moment, caught up in one another. Like it’s supposed to be. 

When they pull apart, her eyes are shining when she says, “I love you, too.” 


End file.
